Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Novel: Season One
by Lacey Cordelle
Summary: Do you think better when you're reading something rather than watching it? Have you wished you could have a copy of your favorite Buffy episodes on hand for reference? Look no further! Season one of Buffy, painstakingly transcribed for your convenience! Want to relive the series in text? I have made your dreams come alive. Each of the episodes, just how you remember it.
1. Introduction

_**Introduction**_

Hello, my pretties! I feel this story actually requires an introduction for once.

Nothing in this story is mine. Nothing at all. Well, the phrasing, perhaps, but that's it, because it's a transcription of the episodes.

This isn't a story I'll be able to update very quickly. If I'd worked on the first chapter non-stop, it would have taken me 36 hours to work through the video and turn it into text, and then to write it out. Naturally, I didn't do that in one sitting, so instead it took me close to a month. Just so you know that if it takes me a long time to update, it's not because I've given up. It's just taking a while.

This particular story is only going to be the first season. Then I'll start a new one, for the next, and so on.

I can't guarantee that every word of the dialogue is correct. In the first chapter, there's two words that I'm really not sure about, but that's all. I work really hard to get it perfect, and I think I do a pretty damn good job. When I've listened to the same piece over again and still don't know what it says, I try to look up the quote. So just bear in mind that I spend a lot of time working on it, if there's something that doesn't look like it says what you think it should say.

How about a little preview? Now, this isn't something you'll see for a very long time, but it happens to be my favorite scene from the entire series. The cross scene from season 7, episode 2, Beneath You.

* * *

_**The Cross**_

Buffy stared at the church as she paused outside of it for a moment. Steeling her conviction, she stepped up.

She walked inside slowly, gazing around the room for the blonde vampire. She paused just behind the pews, not wanting to enter too far into the room, lest her escape route be blocked. She couldn't see anything, though, and paced to her right, trying to decide how long she was obligated to look before she could reasonably leave. A small frown appeared on her face as she scanned the pews, wondering if he could be lying — or hiding — under one. He _did _seem to be rather crazy lately.

Spike stepped out from behind her. "Didn't work."

Buffy whipped around to face him. "What the hell are you —"

He interrupted her before she could finish. "It didn't work," he repeated.

He paused a moment, glancing nervously to his right. He lifted his right hand, and Buffy noticed for the first time that he held a bundle of blue cloth: the shirt he'd been wearing earlier. She also noticed he was shirtless. It doesn't seem like the kind of thing you can miss, but she had.

"Costume. Didn't help," he continued. "Couldn't hide." He chucked the shirt onto the back of the closest pew and let his hand fall back to his side.

He shifted restlessly, and her eyes returned to his face. She was confused and somewhat shocked, but she tried to hide it. She wasn't sure how well she did. "No more mind games, Spike."

"No more mind games," he agreed. "No more mind." His eyes remained downcast. She didn't think he had looked at her face yet.

Buffy's confusion only grew, and she looked at the gouges on his chest. A reasonable topic change. "Tell me what happened to you." She reached out and touched the wound.

Spike recoiled, hiding his chest behind his arm. "Hey, hey, hey! No touching!"

He finally looked at her, his expression becoming questioning, pleading. "Am I flesh?" he asked. "Am I flesh to you?" That was more of a demand, and Buffy watched him curiously, in a kind of way that could not be described in any way except as how one regarded a person they had known who was suddenly saying things that made no sense at all. "Feed on flesh. My flesh." He had looked away again, and now shifted his gaze just to the right of Buffy. "Nothing else, not a spark."

It sounded like he was going to say _'okay,' _but the word was strangled off. "Fine. Flesh then," he decided. He met her eyes, then looked at his hands, where they were worrying at his belt, and back at her in quick succession. "Solid through." His eyes dropped again. "Get it hard, service the girl." He jerked his head once, sharply, and began to unbuckle himself.

"Stop it!" Buffy yelled, reaching to slap his hands away. It — he — brought back too many memories of _that_ night, memories she'd just as well forget.

He reached up and grabbed her throat, a natural reaction for any predator who feels threatened, earning a grunt from her. She slammed her forearm into his elbow and threw him across the room. He landed in the pews, destroying many of them.

He propped himself up in the wreckage, but made no move to stand. "Right. . . . Girl doesn't want to be serviced." His voice wavered. "Because there's no spark." He frowned and looked around, toward the window to his left that bathed him in moonlight. "Ain't we in a sodding engine?" he called to no one in particular. A humorless laugh escaped his lips.

Buffy stepped around so she could see him, standing at the edge of the pile of splintered wood. "Spike, have you completely lost your mind?"

"Well, yes, where have you been all night?" he retorted. He regarded her as if she was the crazy one.

"You thought you would just come back here and . . . be with me?" she asked, a hint of disgust coloring her tone.

"First time for everything," he said, looking down at the ruined bench. He laughed, again without humor.

"This is all you get," she said sternly. "I'm listening." She paused, bracing herself, not certain she'd really said the words that had just passed her lips. "Tell me what happened." She gathered her resolve and felt she was ready for whatever Spike was going to say.

He seemed confused, but whether it was because of what she'd said or because he didn't know where to begin, Buffy didn't know.

He moved his head in different directions, almost as if to music. "I tried to find it, acourse."

"Find what?" she asked sharply, impatiently.

"The spark," he retorted, like she should already know. "The missing . . . the piece. That fit." He was back to avoiding looking at her again. "That'd make me fit. Because you didn't want . . ." He drew in a breath, shaking his head ruefully as he expelled it past his teeth.

He looked around suddenly, briefly meeting her eyes. "I can't." He shifted himself backwards. "Not with you looking." He scampered away, into the comfort of the shadows. He lifted himself to his feet, stumbling as he added more space between the two of them, Slayer and vampire.

He kept his back turned to her as he resumed speaking, but turned his face to her. "I dreamed of killing you."

Buffy glanced to the floor and scooped up a stake-like shard from the pew, just to be safe.

Spike moved in the darkness, into a spot where Buffy couldn't see any part of him, not even his gleaming marble-colored flesh. She kept her eyes pinned on where she knew he was, though.

"I think they were dreams," he said uncertainly. There was a long pause as he continued moving, but eventually he started again. "So weak." He breathed deeply, roughly, even though it was unnecessary. "You make me weak," he accused. He was facing her again, but it didn't matter much. There still wasn't much of him she could see except for the outline of a shoulder and a piece of his peroxide blonde hair. "Thinking of you. Holding myself, and spilling useless buckets of salt over your—" he cut himself off, groping for a way to finish, "ending." Another mirthless laugh. "Angel. He — he should have warned me."

Buffy was starting to catch on now, but wanted to hear more before she jumped to any conclusions. Because there was no way he would have done what she thought he was suggesting.

"Makes a good show of forgetting, but it's here," he went on. "In me. All the time."

Buffy slowly lowered her stake, eyes wide, as she came to the realization that he really was saying what it sounded like he was saying.

He wasn't done yet. "The spark. I wanted to give you . . . what you deserve." Spike had circled around by now until he was behind Buffy, several feet back.

She swallowed compulsively, trying to reconcile what she was hearing with what she knew of the Big Bad. Her brain was unwilling to accept this new information.

"And I got it. They put the spark in me," he paced forward, "and now all it does is burn." His voice was low and intense, running over Buffy like a river over stones. He was right behind her now, less than a foot separating the bare skin of his chest from her back. She didn't turn to face him yet, though.

"Your soul," she whispered incredulously. He snorted, and she turned slowly, partly from disbelief, partly so she wouldn't startle him.

"Bit worse for lack of use." He smiled sadly, only a hint of his usual ruefulness in it.

She stared at him. "You got your soul back." She could hardly believe it. This was _Spike._ With a soul? Impossible — right? "How?" she asked breathily.

"'S what you wanted, right?" he asked earnestly. "It's what _you_ wanted, right?" he repeated, more loudly, changing the emphasis and looking up. He was talking to no one again. He looked away, over his shoulder, realizing he sounded crazy again. "And — and now, everybody's in here," he put his fingers to his temples, brushing past Buffy, "talking. Everything I did, everyone I. . . . And _him._" Buffy turned to keep him in her line of sight.

He made as if to look over his shoulder at her, but didn't quite, instead just staring off to the side. "And it," he added sadly. He faced forward again, looking at the cross resting behind here the altar would have been. "The other. The thing. Beneath." The intensity in his tone had begun to rise. "Beneath you. It's here too. Everybody. They're all just telling me to go. Go." He twisted to look her in the eye, his blue gaze as intense as his voice had been moments before. "To hell." He held her eyes this time.

She shook her head weakly, a slight jerky movement. "Why?" He didn't answer; there were a million things she could have been asking about. "Why would you do that?" she finished.

He was talking over her before she'd gotten the whole question out. "Buffy, shame on you. _Why does a man do what he mustn't? For her. To be hers. To be the kind of man who would nev_—" He realized suddenly that he was looking at her, something he didn't want to be doing, and turned to face the cross again. He couldn't look at her while bearing his heart as he was, such as it was. "_To be a kind of man . . ._" He trailed off and started to pace forward deliberately, with purpose, approaching the cross. "_And she shall look on him with forgiveness, and everyone will forgive and love. . . ._" He stood toe to toe with the cross now, looking upon it. "_And he will be loved._"

Buffy watched Spike from across the room. "So everything's okay, right?" Her mouth dropped open as a tear rolled over and fell across her cheek, soon followed by another. Buffy watched on as the vampire draped himself across the cross, unable to speak even if she'd wanted to.

Spike sighed as smoke began to rise from his skin where the holy object came into contact with him. He didn't seem to notice, or maybe he just didn't care. "Can we rest now?" he implored. She couldn't look away, her silent tears still fresh on her face.

"Buffy, can we rest?"


	2. Welcome to the Hellmouth

_**Darla**_

Sunnydale High School. The building was grand, and kind of spooky at night, even (or perhaps especially) with the ambient lighting. The hallways were empty of course, it being long after the last bell, and even after any extra-curriculars would have ended. The science room was particularly freaky. The plastic skeleton could have easily been mistaken for real bones. And in the teachers' prep area, the real bones would have been terrifying, had anyone been around to see them. The entire scene was ominous — as it well should be.

A hand shot through a glass window near a microscope, groping for the latch. The hand belonged to a brown-haired boy, who had a blond girl with him.

He got the window open and lifted it. Behind him, the girl looked nervous. He passed the frame off to her, and she asked, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

It's a great idea; now come on," he responded, hauling himself up and into the room. However doubtful she may have been, she followed, and he led her into the hall.

"Do you go to school here?" she asked, wanting to fill the silence.

"I used to. On top of the gym, it's so cool. You can see the whole town." She couldn't see his face in the darkness (and because he was walking ahead of her), but she had a feeling he was smiling.

She glanced around as they continued down the hall. "I-I-I-I don't want to go up there," she told him.

"Aw, you can't wait, huh?" He smiled cockily, facing her.

"We're just gonna get in trouble," she said.

He paced backwards, and she followed. "Yeah, you can count on it."

He leaned in to kiss her, but a noise caused her to whip her head around with a gasp before his lips made contact. "What was that?

Irritated, he pulled back, put pulled himself together and leaned forward along with her. "What was what?"

"I heard a noise."

He moved his head to the other side of hers. "It's nothing."

"Uhg, uh, maybe it's something." She faced him again, hand on his chest.

"Or maybe it's some _thing," _he teased, waggling his fingers.

"That's not funny." She pushed him away.

He turned and looked down an adjacent hallway. "Hello!" he called down it. He waited a moment, but when he got no reply, he turned back to the girl. "There's nobody here," he said, his hands spread.

She stepped alongside him, curious but wary. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." He enunciated clearly and stood close behind her.

"Okay." She sounded reassured, and he was glad. She was hot, but he'd been starting to think she wasn't worth the annoyance.

She whipped around to face him, fangs dropping, eyes turning yellow, brow creasing deeply. It was the face of a demon.

She snarled as she turned and bit down on his neck. He tried to cry out, but couldn't. Uninterrupted in the vacant school, she feasted.

* * *

_**First Day**_

Buffy was in her bed, asleep, her golden hair trailing off her pillow.

In her dream, there was a cave, filled with candles. Everywhere you looked, a flame danced. At least two people walked, carrying honest-to-god torches.

The image shifted, now showing a cemetery. Dozens of tombstones danced behind her eyelids, some plain, some specially carved: a weeping angel, a soldier in uniform.

Suddenly a skull and a statue of a goddess — who knew which — flashed in quick succession, followed by a man, standing in that same cave, and a painting of an Egyptian woman's face with an arm jabbed through it.

Buffy tossed and turned, the unpleasant images flashing through her mind almost too quickly to be recognized as images.

A grotesquely wrinkled face; a book with the title vampyr written across the front; black and white drawings from a book, a naked woman and some sort of seance; a cross necklace; an army of zombies walking towards her; the skull again (or maybe it was the face); rushing blood; a ghoulish face; a werewolf-like hand; the cemetery again; flashing faces; one final face, bald, bumpy in the forehead area, snarl fixed to its (his?) Mouth.

Buffy woke with a start, happy to be out of the dream, but unsure what it meant.

"Buffy?" came a call from downstairs.

"I'm up, Mom," she responded, sitting up and taking in the view of boxed littering her room, still mostly unpacked.

"Don't want to be late for your first day!" her mom called, entirely too cheerfully.

"No . . ." Buffy sighed. "Wouldn't want that." In fact, the exact opposite was true.

Girls walked down the sidewalk in checkered skirts and backpacks, and guys raced past, throwing things at each other while a bus pulled up in the background. The campus of Sunnydale High was teeming with teenagers, racing to meet their friends or chatting happily away if they already had.

A forest green Jeep pulled up to the front of the school, Buffy and her mom inside.

"Okay," said her mother, putting the car into park. She sat and smiled at her daughter while she undid her seatbelt and got out with her beige bag. "Have a good time. I know you're going to make friends right away. Just think positive." She gave Buffy a double thumbs up. Buffy nodded shortly and shut the door. "And honey?" Buffy turned back. "Try not to get kicked out?" she requested, grimacing.

Buffy nodded again, smiling this time. "I promise."

"Good," said her mom, turning back to the car and pulling away.

Buffy turned to the school and stepped forward, looking at the imposing building and the people who thought nothing of it. She picked a direction at random and started off.

* * *

A boy rolled along the sidewalk on a skateboard, calling out, "Excuse me, coming through. Pardon me, excuse me." Even though they could see him, people continued to stand in his way, causing him to nearly run into several people. A girl shrieked and jumped out of the way. "Woah!" And that was the point to his ongoing litany. "Excuse me. Not sure I can stop! Please move." He dodged out of the way of another person. "Whoa! Excuse me."

He noticed Buffy walking up the steps and stared at her unabashedly. "Whoa!" It didn't really matter how much he looked, because she couldn't see him.

Of course, it did matter how much he looked, because in the next moment he slammed into the metal railing that went up the center of the cement stairs.

"God!" He rested on the ground, not quite ready to get up yet. One of the checker-skirt-wearing girls looked down at him. "Okay. I feel good."

She laughed, and he looked up at her. "Willow! You're so very much the person I wanted to see."

This girl was different than the other cookie-cutter females, though. For example, this one wore white pantihose over her already pale legs, and her skirt wasn't really a skirt — it was a dress. She had long red hair, and, if he was being honest, was kind of geeky. But he loved her all the same. She was his best friend.

"Oh really?" she asked as he picked himself up off the ground and grabbed his skateboard.

"Yeah." He mounted the steps. "You know, I kind of had a problem with the math."

"Uh, which part?"

"The math," he replied with a decisive nod. "Can you help me out tonight? _Please _be my study buddy."

"Well, what's in it for me?" Willow asked with a grin.

"A shiny nickle!"

"Okay," she laughed. "Do you have _Theories and Trig? _You should check it out."

"Check it out?" He looked spectacularly confused.

"From the library? Where the books live," she reminded.

"Right, I'm there. See, I wanna change."

"Hey!" someone called to them.

"Hey, Jesse, what's up?"

"New girl!" Jesse reported.

"That's right! I saw her. Pretty much a hottie."

"I heard someone was transferring," Willow put in.

"So tell."

"Tell what?" asked Jesse.

"What's the sitch? What do you know about her?"

Jesse shrugged. "New girl."

"Well you're certainly a font of nothing."

* * *

Buffy sat in the principal's office while he stood behind her, holding her file.

"Buffy Summers, sophomore, late of Hemory High in Los Angeles. Interesting record." the principal walked around the desk to sit across from her. "Quite a career." He sat, taking his time. Then he ripped up her transcript. Buffy looked on in shock.

"Welcome to Sunnydale," the principal — his nameplate announced him as B. Flutie — continued. "A clean slate, Buffy. That's what you get here. What's past is past. We're not interested in what it says on a piece of paper. Even if it says . . ." He paused, reading one of the torn pieces. His face fell. "Well . . ."

"Mr. Flutie—" Buffy started.

"All the kids here are free to call me Bob."

"Bob," she reasserted.

"But they don't."

_Talk about mixed signals, _she thought. "I know my transcripts are a little . . ." she paused as she saw him putting the torn pieces of paper back together, "colorful."

"Hey," he admonished as he pulled off a strip of tape to stick the record back together, "we're not caring about that. You think, uh, _colorful_ is the word?" She watched his hands as he worked at fixing the rip, frowning. "Not, um, dismal?"

"It wasn't that bad," she placated.

"You burned down the gym," Mr. Flutie pointed out.

"I did," she said, nodding. "I really did. . . ." The nod became a shake of her head. "But you're not seeing the big picture here. I mean, that gym was full of vampi—" She cut herself off, realizing that wasn't the kind of thing you could say to the general populace. They stared at each other for an awkward moment of silence, before she finished with, "asbestos."

"Buffy," said Flutie. "Don't worry. Any other school, they might say 'Watch your step,' or 'We'll be watching you.' But that's just not the way here. We want to service your needs. And help you to respect our needs. And if your needs, and our needs, don't mesh . . ." He put the taped up transcript back in her file and closed it with a _smack_.

She jumped at the sound and watched him nervously. When it became clear he wasn't going to say anything more, she got up and left, exiting out into the hallway.

She dug around in her bag, stepping forward without looking. Right into the path of a girl, who ran right into her. Buffy's bag was upended, it's contents spilling all over the floor. Trouble was, some of its contents were a little weirder than the average chap's. Along with the standard notebooks and pens were hand-carved wooden stakes.

The boy with the skateboard saw the spill and fought his way back through the crowd to help her. He knelt down and hurriedly began picking things up for her.

"Can I have you?" he asked.

She looked up, eyes wide.

"Uh," he laughed nervously. "Cab I help you?"

She sighed and smiled. "Thanks."

"I don't know you, do I?"

"I'm Buffy," she told him. "I'm new."

"Xander. Is-is me. Hi," he said awkwardly.

"Uh, thanks." She smiled.

"Well, um, maybe I'll see you around. Maybe at school. Since we . . . both . . ." he chuckled nervously, "go there." He nodded slowly.

"Great." She stood, and he rose with her. "It was nice to meet you." She walked off down the hall, looking like she wondered why he'd been talking to her.

Xander bit his bottom lip. "We both go to school very suave." He shook his head self-deprecatingly. "Very not-pathetic."

He looked down and noticed she'd left something behind. "Oh, hey!" He knelt down and grabbed it, not really noticing what it was, simply seeing a reason to talk to her again. "Hey! You forgot your . . ." He held it up and noticed for the firs time what it was. "Stake. . . ."

She didn't turn back to him.

He stopped waving it through the air, dropping it lower in his hand. _Alrighty then._

* * *

_**Class**_

The teacher finished scrawling _The Black Death_ on the board and turned back to face the class. "It's estimated that about twenty-five million people died in that one four year span. But the fun part of the Black Plague is that it originated in Europe how?" She paused, watching the students take notes. "As an early form of germ warfare. If you'll look at the map on page sixty-three, you can trace the spread of the disease into Rom and then North . . ." She droned on as Buffy searched for someone who would share their textbook with her.

"Here," said the dark-haired girl next to her, holding it over so she could see.

"This popular plague led to what social changes? Steve?" the teacher asked.

The bell rang, and everybody began packing up their books.

"Hi. I'm Cordelia," said the girl who'd offered up her textbook. She held out her hand.

Buffy shook it. "I'm Buffy."

"If you're looking for a textbook of your very own, there's probably a few in the library," Cordelia suggested as they stood.

"Oh, great, thanks. Where would that be?"

"I'll show you. Come on." Cordelia waved for Buffy to follow her as she walked. "So you're from Hemory, right? In L.A.?"

"Yeah."

Cordelia sighed. "I would kill to live in L.A. That close to that many shoes?"

Buffy laughed. "Yeah."

They headed through the halls together, Cordelia chattering away. "You'll be okay here. If you hang out with me and mine, you'll be accepted in no time. Of course, we do have to test your coolness factor. You're from L.A., so you can skip the written, but let's see . . . vamp nail polish?"

"Um, over?" Buffy answered.

"So over," Cordy agreed. "James Spader."

"He needs to call me!" the blonde enthused.

"Frappaccinos," the other girl tested.

"Trendy — but tasty."

"John Tesh."

"The devil."

"That was pretty much a gimme, but you passed!"

"Oh, good," Buffy sighed.

"Willow," Cordelia said as they saw the red head drinking from a fountain. "Nice dress! Good to know you've seen the softer side of Sears."

Buffy's smile dropped as she regarded her new (possibly) friend.

"W-w-well, my mom picked it out," Willow answered.

"No wonder you're such a guy magnet!"

Buffy clearly wasn't okay with what was going on, but she didn't say anything.

"Are you done?" Cordelia asked sharply.

Willow looked from the girl to the fountain and back again. "Oh!" She turned away and left.

The brunette huffed. "You wanna fit in here, the first rule is know your losers. Once you can identify them all by sight, they're a lot easier to avoid."

Buffy laughed, but her heart wasn't in it, and she watched Willow's retreating back, her smile becoming more of a grimace. She felt bad for the girl. No one deserved that.

"And," Cordelia said as they continued through the halls of Sunnydale High, "if you're not too swamped with catching up, you should come by the Bronze tonight."

"The who?"

"The Bronze," she repeated. "It's the only club worth going to around here. They let anybody in, but it's still the scene. It's in the bad part of town."

"Where's that?"

"About a half a block from the good part of town." They'd stopped in the center of an intersection. "We don't have a whole lot of town here," she laughed. "But um, you should show."

"Well, I'll try," Buffy responded. The bell rang. "Uh, thanks."

"Good. So, um, I'll see you at gym, and you can tell me absolutely everything there is to know about you," Cordelia said, backing away. Excitement danced on her features.

"Great! Oh, that sounds like fun," Buffy said sarcastically. She turned and headed into the library.

The double doors parted under her touch and led her into a wide, dark room. "Hello?" she called.

The room was circular, a lower floor, then a second, like a wrap-around porch, up five steps. Bookcases abounded, and a table sat in the center of the circle. A counter stood to the right, to check out books. Not that Buffy imagined too many people did that.

She stepped farther into the room, seeing no one. "Is anybody here?"she asked slowly. She leaned against the counter, looking down at the paper resting on it. An article was circled in red. _Local Boys Still Missing, _read the headline.

Behind her, a hand tapped on her shoulder. She whipped around with a gasp.

She sighed, seeing it was only the librarian. "Anybody's here."

"Can I help you?" he asked. He had a British accent, and he looked the part too. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and a tweed jacket over a formal shirt and vest.

"I was looking for some, well, books. I'm new."

"Miss Summers?" he asked.

"Good call." She sounded surprised. "Guess I'm the only new kid, huh?"

"I'm Mr. Giles . . . the librarian. I was told you were coming." He turned away and headed off behind the desk, and she frowned.

"Great. So, um, I'm gonna need _Perspectives on Twentieth Century_—"

He cut her off, finger raised. "I know what you're after." He bent down behind the counter and rose with a thick book that he set down in front of her.

It was the book from her dream. The ancient one, with vampyr written across the cover and locks on the side.

Buffy looked from the ominous book to the librarian. "That's not what I'm looking for," she said flatly.

"You sure?" he persisted.

She subconsciously leaned away from him. "I'm way sure," she responded adamantly.

Mr. Giles didn't look much like he believed her. "My mistake." He slid the book back below the counter.

As he was looking down, Buffy darted away.

"So what is it you said—" he started as he stood back up, but cut himself off when he saw the double doors swing shut behind her. He grinned to himself, knowing without a doubt that she was the one.

* * *

_**Locker Boy**_

"The new kid? She seems kind of weird to me," said one of many girls in the gym locker room. "What kind of name is Buffy?"

Girls went about their regular business, and one passed the girl speaking, calling out, "Hey Aphrodisia!" to her.

"Oh, hey!" she responded, tapping the girl lightly on her arm.

"Well, the chatter in the caf is that she got kicked _out,"_ the second girl said. "And that's why her mom had to get a new job." They both started to unlock the lockers.

"Nay," said Aphrodisia.

"Pos! She was starting _fights."_

"Negly!"

"Well, I heard from Blue, and she said that she—" She had pulled open the locker now, and a still, lifeless body fell out onto her.

She screamed, jumping away. The body dropped to the floor.

She kept on screaming.

* * *

_**Vampire Bites**_

Willow sat on one of the store benches in the quad, pulling a brown-bagged lunch from her backpack. She sat alone, eating from her lap. Better to be there than in the building, she thought.

Buffy walked up from behind her. "Um, hi. Willow, right?"

"Why?" Willow asked suspiciously, but quickly regrouped to her usual cheerful self. "I-I mean, hi! Uh, did you want me to move?" Because that was usually the only reason anyone other than Xander or Jesse talked to her.

"Why don't we start with: Hi, I'm Buffy? And, uh, then let's segway directly into me asking you for a favor. It doesn't involve moving, but it _does_ involve handing out with me for a while."

"But aren't you hanging out with Cordelia?" she asked incredulously.

"I can't do both?" Buffy asked, looking confused. Willow wasn't sure if it was mock confusion or real.

"Not legally," she replied, shaking her head rapidly.

Buffy laughed airily. "Look, I really want to get by here. New school and . . . Cordelia's been really nice. . . . To me." She frowned. "Anyway. But, um, I kind of had this burning desire not to flunk all my classes and I heard a rumor you were the person to talk to if I wanted to get caught up."

Willow's face lit up. "Oh, I could totally help you out! Uh, if you have sixth period free, we could meet in the library."

Buffy's eyes were wide. "Or not."

Willow's face dropped.

"Or we could meet some place quieter," Buffy covered. "Uh, louder. That place just kinda gives me the wiggins."

"Oh, it has that effect on most people. I love it, though. It's a great collection, and the new librarian is really cool!"

"He's new," Buffy said flatly. It wasn't quite a question.

"Yeah! He just started. He was a curator at some British museum or-or _the _British Museum, I'm not sure. But he knows _everything,_ and he brought all these historical volumes and biographies and am I the _single _dullest person alive?" she rambled.

"Not at all," Buffy reassured.

"Hey!" a male voice called.

"You guys busy?" Xander asked, vaulting over the stone half wall with shrubs growing on top to sit above the girls. Jesse dropped his bag on the grass and stood in front of them. "We're interrupting? We're interrupting."

"Hey," Buffy greeted.

Xander threw his bag at Jesse, who caught it easily.

"Hey," she repeated with a smile.

"Hey there." Jesse grinned.

"Buffy, this is Jesse," Willow pointed to the guy in the orange shirt with short dark hair, "and that's Xander." Buffy had already seen Xander, with his floppy brown hair and humorous eyes. She pursed her lips and looked at him.

"Oh, me and Buffy go _way_ back. _Old_ friends. Very close. Then there was that period of estrangement where I think we were both growing as people, but now here we are like old times. I'm quite moved."

Buffy stared at him, not knowing what to say.

"Is it me, or are-are you turning into a bibbling idiot?" Jesse asked smugly.

"No, it's, uh, it's not you," Xander replied. Jesse sat.

"Well, it's nice to meet you guys . . . I think." Xander passed in front of her while she was speaking to sit next to Jesse.

"Oh, you know, we wanted to welcome you, make you feel at home . . . unless you have a scary home," Jesse pointed out.

"And to return this." Xander stood from where he'd been rooting through his bag and held out the dropped stake out to her. "The only think I can think is that you're building a really little fence." He hung the stake upside down.

Buffy grabbed it quickly with a laugh. "No, uh . . . a-a-actually it was for self-defense. Everyone has them in L.A. Pepper spray is so passé." She gathered her things as she spoke.

Xander sat down on the bench between Buffy and Willow. "So, what do you do for fun? What do you like? What do you look for in a man? Let's hear it."

"If you have any dark, painful secrets you'd like us to publish," Jesse suggested, looking serious.

"Gee." Buffy looked around. "Everyone wants to know about me." She grimaced. "How keen."

"Well, no much goes on in a one-Starbucks-town like Sunnydale; you're pretty big news," Xander pointed out.

"I'm not," she reassured. "Really."

"Are these guys bothering you?" Cordelia asked, coming up from behind Xander and Jesse.

"Uh, no."

"She's not hanging out with us," said Willow emphatically.

"Hey, Cordelia." Jesse stood, trying to be suave.

"Oh, please," she deflected. "I don't mean to interrupt your downward mobility," she addressed Buffy, "but I just wanted to tell you that you won't be meeting Coach Foster, the woman with the chest hair . . . because gym was _cancelled _due to the _extreme_ dead guy in the locker."

"What?" All humor drained from Buffy's face.

"What are you talking about?" Willow asked.

"Some guy was stuffed in Aura's locker!"

"Dead," Buffy confirmed.

"_Totally _dead. _Way_ dead."

"So not just a little dead, then," Xander put in sarcastically.

"Don't you have an elsewhere to be?" Cordelia snarked back.

"You know, if you need a shoulder to cry on . . . just to nibble on . . ." Jesse suggested. Cordelia huffed.

Buffy wasn't paying any attention to their banter. "How did he die?" she asked urgently.

The brunette's face creased, like she was the weirdest person she'd ever seen. "I don't know."

"Well, were there any marks?"

"Morbid, much." Cordelia thought the new girl was becoming less and less cool with every passing second. "I didn't ask."

Buffy looked around. "Um, I gotta book." She gathered her papers. "I'll see you guys later." She stood and hurried off.

Cordelia stared after her, lip drawn up. "What's her deal?"

* * *

Buffy snuck around, towards the locker room. She tried the knob, but it was locked.

No matter. An extra twist, a little bit of super strength, and she was in. She glanced at the crack she'd made in the one door, but didn't pay it much mind before darting inside and pulling the door shut behind her.

She tip-toed deeper into the room, noticing the towel that could only be covering the body. She checked to make sure no one was in the room before heading over and kneeling down next to the body.

She peeled back the dark gray towel. It revealed a dark-haired boy with wide brown eyes and a nice set of puncture wounds on the side of his neck. They weren't overly neat, but they were obviously made by a wicked set of fangs.

Buffy checked out the dead guy. She rocked back on her heels, muttering, "Oh, great." She shook her head. Here she thought getting out of L.A. would mean no more vampires, no more slayage. Apparently she was wrong.

* * *

She burst through the double doors of the library. "Okay, what's the sitch?" she demanded.

"Sorry?" the librarian asked, peeking out from between two bookshelves on the second level.

"You heard about the dead guy, right?" She stalked farther into the room. "The dead guy in the locker?"

"Yes."

She set her jacket on the table. "'Cause it's the weirdest thing." She headed up the stairs to stand toe to toe with Mr. Giles. "He's got two little little holes in his neck, and all his blood's been drained."

He had stepped out to meet her, and now regarded her seriously.

"Isn't that bizarre? Aren't you just going _'oooh!'"_

He stared at the teenager a moment longer. "I was afraid of this." He didn't seem all that surprised or concerned.

Buffy had calmed a bit. Well, maybe not, but at least her intensity had lessened. "Well, I wasn't. _It's my first day. _I was afraid that I was going to be behind in all my classes, that I wouldn't make any friends, that I would have last month's hair." Mr. Giles had resumed shelving books but now paused and looked up, not understanding that last comment. Buffy went on, "I didn't think there'd be vampires on campus. And I don't care," she insisted.

"Then why are you here?" he pointed out, staring at her, challenging her.

"To . . . tell you that . . . I don't care." It sounded more like a question than a statement. "Which . . . I don't. And . . . have now told you. So . . . bye." She turned to go.

Giles, who'd been pinching the bridge of his nose, pulled his hand away and asked, as though to a particularly thick-skulled child, "Is he . . . will he . . . rise again?"

She turned back to him and he met her eyes. "Who?"

"They boy?" It was like spoonfeeding a baby. He wasn't sure whether or not she was being intentionally dense.

"No," she said petulantly, unhappy to be doing anything Slayer-y. "He's just dead."

"Can you be sure?"

"To make someone a vampire, they have to suck your blood. And then you have to suck their blood," she rhymed off, but with a little more flare than just listing off something she'd memorized. "It's like a whole big sucking thing. Mostly, they're just going to kill you. Why am I still talking to you?" she asked herself, turning to leave again.

"You really have no idea what's going on, do you?" He followed her as she walked away, but remained on the second level after she'd descended the steps. "Do you think it's coincidence, your being here?" He leaned over the railing, hands widespread against it. "That boy was just the beginning."

She spun around. "Why can't you people just leave me alone?"

"Because you are the Slayer. Unto each generation, a Slayer is born. One girl in all the world, a Chose One, one born with the strength—" he'd moved as he spoke, coming to stand in front of Buffy.

She joined in at that part, although where Giles's recitation had been intense and meaningful, she was mocking it. "—with the strength and kill to hunt the vampires." Giles stopped there, but she went on. "To stop the spread of their evil blah, blah, blah. I've heard it, okay."

"I really don't understand this attitude. You-you've-you've accepted your duty, you've-you've slain vampires before."

"Yeah, and I've both been there, and done that, and I'm moving on."

Giles held up a finger and turned from her. "What do you know about this town?" He headed into his office.

"It's two hours enough away from Neem and Marcus?"

"Dig a bit into the history of this place and you'll find a-a-a steady stream of fairly odd occurrences. I believe this whole are is a center of mystical energy, that things gravitate towards it that-that you might not find elsewhere."

"Like vampires," she said.

"Like zombies. Werewolves." He was back at the center table now, with books that he piled into Buffy's arms as he spoke. "Incubi. Succubi. Everything you've ever dreaded was under your bed but told yourself couldn't be by the light of day." His face was less than a foot from hers, his eyes penetrating deep into hers. "They're all real."

"What, you, like, send away for the Time-Life series?"

He stuttered. "Yes." He pulled away.

"'D you get the free phone?"

"Um, the calendar," he admitted.

"Cool!" She hefted the books. "But, okay," she dumped the volumes into the librarian's arms, "first of all, I'm a vampire slayer. And secondly, I'm retired. Hey, I know! Why don't you kill him!"

Mr. Giles laughed incredulously. "I'm a Watcher. I-I haven't the skill."

"Oh, come on! Stake through the head, a little sunlight. It's like falling off a log."

"A-a Slayer slays. A Watcher—"

"Watches?" Buffy interrupted.

"Yes. No! He . . . he trains her. He-he-he-he prepares her," Giles explained.

"Prepares me for what?" she demanded. "For getting kicked out of school? For losing all my friends? For having to spend _all _of my time fighting for my life and never getting to tell anyone because I might endanger them?" Giles pulled back, not liking the confrontation. "Go ahead. . . . Prepare me," she challenged. She held his eyes, and he had no response.

She turned to grab her bag and walked silently over to the door.

"Damn," he whispered to himself, and rushed after her as she pulled the door open and exited the library.

Meanwhile, on the second floor, Xander stepped out from behind a bookshelf, book under his arm, a look of utter confusion on his face. ". . . What?"

* * *

Giles followed Buffy into the hall, swinging himself around the corner. "It's getting worse," he called out to her. He looked over his shoulder at the group of kids chattering away, making sure they couldn't hear.

She stopped unhappily, allowing him to come up behind her and lead her out of the middle of the thoroughfare. "What's getting worse?" she asked flatly.

"The influx of the undead, the supernatural occurrences. It's been building for years. There's a reason why you're here and a reason why it's now," he insisted, stabbing his finger at the ground.

"Because _now_ is the time my mom moved _here."_ She was _so_ done with this conversation, and began walking away again.

He followed her again. "Something's coming. Something-something—"

He cut her off, blocking her path with his arm. She rolled her head to the side. "Something is-is gonna happen here. Soon!"

"Gee, can you vague that up for me?"

"The signs, as far as I can tell, point to crucial upheaval very soon." The bell rang in the background, and he glanced around the hall. "Days, possibly less." The Brit talked with his hands, and now returned them to his side.

"Oh, come one," Buffy persisted. "This is Sunnydale. How bad and evil can there be here?"

* * *

_**The Sleeper Will Wake**_

A school bus drove past Sunnydale High, and students milled around outside the building as a bell sounded. But the real focus, for right now at least, was below the ground.

Several feet under the high school, a cave lurked. The same cave that had been featured in Buffy Summers's dream the night before, filled with candles dripping wax onto stone below. Piles of rocks lay haphazardly everywhere. A pool of something red and liquid was on the ground, in a hole. Whether or not the hole was natural was anyone's guess.

Slightly farther in the underground tunnel system, a man in a suit walked along, carrying a torch. He stepped to the side, and seemed to be waiting for something. He wasn't the only one.

Heavy breathing. A deep voice, proclaiming, "The sleeper . . . will wake." More breathing. A woman, also holding a torch, walking in through a connecting tunnel. "The sleeper will wake," the voice repeated. "The sleeper will wake." The pit of red. Blood? Most likely. "The sleeper will wake . . . and the world will bleed."

The speaker was a vampire, fully fang-y and forehead-y. He tilted his head, then gazed up to the ceiling. "Amen!"

* * *

_**Mother and Daughter**_

Buffy picked up two outfits set out on her bed and held a black vinyl dress against herself, regarding her reflection in the full-length mirror.

"Hi! I'm an enormous slut!" She switched hands, this time holding a pale, flowery, frumpy number. "Hello. Would you like a copy of the Watchtower?"

She dropped both hands and sighed. "I used to be so good at this." She looked down at them both, unhappy.

"Hi, hon," her mother said from the doorway.

"Hey," Buffy breathed, handing the outfits back up in her closet.

Her mom came into the room, setting down whatever she was carrying. "Are you, uh, going out tonight?"

"Yeah," she answered cheerfully. "I'm going to a club."

"Oh." This was clearly news to Ms. Summers. "Will there be boys there?"

"No, Mom. It's a nun club," Buffy responded sarcastically.

Her mom gave her a look. "Well, just . . . be careful."

The Slayer glanced away from where she was rooting through her closet. "I will." She went back to trying to find something to wear.

Her mother obviously had something more to say, because she hung around. Finally, picking up a pillow and hugging it against her stomach, she said, "You know, I think we can make it work here." Her daughter twisted to look at her. "I've got my positive energy flowing. I'm gonna get the gallery on its feel." She set down her pillow and picked up another. Buffy had gone back to looking at her clothing. "We may have found a space today."

"That's great," Buffy told her.

"Oh, and that school is a very nurturing environment, which is just what you need." She'd exchanged the pillow again and now held a white stuffed bear.

"Well . . . actually . . ."

"Oh, not _too_ nurturing." She grinned. "I know, you're sixteen, I've read all about the dangers of over-nurturing."

Buffy came over and handed a few clothing adorned hangers to her mother to hold.

"It's hard," Ms. Summers continued. "New town and everything. . . . It is for me too." She smiled and looked at her daughter, who stared back with doe-like eyes. "I'm trying to make it work." She moved to stand in from of the teenager, taking her hands. "I'm _going_ to make it work."

"I know." The golden-haired girl was confident in her mom. She smiled.

"Oh, you're a good girl, Buffy," she ran her hand over the golden locks, "you just fell in with the wrong crowd. But that is all behind us now." She lowered herself so they were eye to eye.

"It is. From now on, I am only going to hang out with the living." Her mother didn't seem to notice the slip, but she hurriedly corrected herself anyway. "I mean, lively. People."

"Mmm. Okay."

Buffy turned back to her mirror, flaring her eyes wide for a moment and blowing out a breath.

"You have fun," her mom said.

Buffy smiled distractedly, focusing on her clothes.

* * *

_**The Harvest**_

Buffy walked down the sidewalk (ironically enough), her hair up and a blue jacket on. Twenty feet behind, someone followed her.

She heard something behind her, pausing and cocking her head to listen. After a moment, she continued, but her pace was just a hair quicker than before.

She rounded a corner and walked past some shops, closed, of course, at this hour. It was lit by a streetlight, and that was it. The shadow of her stalker passed across the wall.

Buffy was running now, jogging down a side alley. A cat yowled and scrambled. She paused, looking around. There appeared to be nothing.

A man stepped out of the darkness. Light revealed his silhouette, and a white shirt was visible under a black jacket.

The farther he stepped into the alley, the more of him could be seen: his stylishly messy dark hair; his open black jacket, tailored for him; eventually, in a single flash, his face.

Buffy saw all this from where she held herself up on a pipe in a handstand. It would have been nearly impossible for anyone without Slayer strength and skill, but to her it was nothing. She held herself prone as he walked under her.

She waited until he had passed her before she swung down and planted both feet in the middle of his back, sending him flying to the ground.

She dropped herself down and put her foot on his chest.

He chuckled nervously. "Is there a problem, ma'am?"

"Yeah there's a problem. Why are you following me?"

"I know what you're thinkin'. Don't worry. I don't bite." He tried to sound reassuring, but the waver in his voice kind of ruined it.

She thought it over a moment, then slowly backed off, but kept her hands up, ready for anything.

He lifted himself to his feet, dusting himself off. Buffy finally got a good look at him. He had a heavy brow and flat dark eyebrows to match his dark brown/black hair, a strong Roman nose, and pale lips currently thinned into a wry smile. His white shirt had the top button undone.

"Truth is, I thought you'd be taller," he said with a laugh. "Or bigger, muscles and all that." He blinked in pain and touched the back of his head. "You're pretty spry, though."

"What do you want?" she demanded.

He lowered his hand. "The same thing you do." He blinked heavily again, trying to blear his head.

She threw her hands up and let them slap against her sides. "Okay." She stood up straight, falling out of her stance. "What do I want?"

He took a step forward and gazed intently at her. "To kill 'em. To kill 'em all."

"Sorry, that's incorrect, but you do get this lovely watch and a year's supply of Turtle Wax," she chimed. "What I _want_ is to be left _alone!"_ She breezed past him.

"Do you really think that's an option anymore?" he drawled. He turned so he could keep looking at her. "You're standing at the mouth of Hell." She turned back. "And it's about to open." He reached into his jacket. "Don't turn your back on this." He pulled out a palm-sized velvet box, tossing it to her. She looked down at it. "You've gotta be ready."

"What for?" she asked.

One corner of his mouth pulled up in something that wasn't quite a smile. "For the Harvest."

She looked down and away for a moment, before meeting his eyes again. "Who are you?"

"Let's just say . . . I''m a friend." He raised his eyebrows and walked past her.

"Yeah, well maybe I don't want a friend," she called after him.

He turned around, but kept walking backwards. "I didn't say I was yours." Darkness consumed him.

She stared after him for a few more seconds, then looked down to the box she held, opening it.

Inside was a silver, reflective cross on a chain. She picked it up between two fingers, then palmed it, looking back down the alley to where the mysterious man had disappeared.

* * *

Buffy finally made it to the Bronze. People milled outside, some just heading in, some seeming happy to remain encased in the night air for the time being.

She headed right in, handing some cash to the bouncer for the overhead fee.

Directly inside that side door was a pool table lined with red felt, and past that, metal stairs leading to a metal mezzanine. There had to be dozens, if not hundreds, of people in the club. A live band played on a low stage, and people bounced and writhed on the floor.

Buffy scanned the crowd for anyone she knew. She jived awkwardly as she looked, but didn't see anyone.

After a few more moments, she noticed a guy waving at her. She broke into a grin and waved emphatically back, before she realized he was waving at the guy behind her. She awkwardly ran her hand over her hair and resumed her search.

Finally she noticed someone she recognized, and headed over to the bar.

Willow sat there. "Hey!" said Buffy, ducking over to her.

"Oh, hi!" Will said happily. Buffy stepped behind her to sit on the stool to her right. "Hi," she said again.

"Hi. Are you here with someone?"

"No," Willow informed her. "I'm just here. I thought Xander was going to show up," she explained.

"Oh! Are you guys going out?"

"No! We're just friends," she clarified. "We used to go out, but we broke up."

Buffy stared at her, eyes wide, then looked away, so as not to be rude. She was surprised that they were still friends after going through something like that. "How come?" She'd gotten a drink by now, and sucked on the straw.

"He stole my Barbie." Buffy looked very confused. "Oh, we were five," she continued.

"Oh." The blonde frowned, stirring her drink with her straw.

"I-I don't actually date a whole lot." Willow's eyebrows were raised, and Buffy thought they had been for a while, but wasn't quite sure. "Lately. . . ."

"Why not?" Buffy asked cheerfully.

"Well, when I'm with a boy I like it's hard for me to say anything cool or-or witty, or at all. I-I can usually make a few vowel sounds, and then I have to go away."

Buffy chuckled. "It's not that bad."

"Not it-it is. I think boys are more interested in a girl who can talk."

"You really haven't been dating lately," she joked.

"It's probably easy for you." Her red-orange eyebrows remained almost perpetually raised.

"Yeah, real easy." Sarcasm touched the words.

"I-I mean, you don't seem too shy."

Buffy threw her head as she spoke, keeping her hair out of her face. "Well, my philosophy— do you want to hear my philosophy?" she asked urgently, wanting to make sure she wasn't boring the girl.

"Yeah, I do!" Willow nodded vehemently.

"Lie is short." Buffy bobbed her head.

Will's eyebrows finally lowered. "Life is short," she repeated.

"Not original, I'll grant you, but it's true. You know, why waste time being all shy and worrying about some guy and if he's gonna laugh at you? Seize the moment. 'Cause, tomorrow you might be dead."

Willow stared at her, not quite knowing what to say. She finally settled on, "Aw, that's nice."

Buffy looked up and noticed another familiar person, one who really didn't belong. He was wearing a tweed jacket and glasses, standing on the mezzanine she'd seen earlier. He was looking around.

"Um, I'll be back in a minute," Buffy told the red-head.

"Oh, that-that's okay. You don't have to come back."

"I'll be back in a minute," the blonde reassured, smiling. She turned and left.

"Seize the moment," Willow said to herself, pensively. She looked around her. Seize the moment, she would.

* * *

Buffy made her way through the crowd and up the steps. Sure enough, there was the Watcher, leaning against the railing.

"So," she said, leaning next to him. "You like to party with the students. In't that kinda skanky?"

"Oh, right. This is me having fun. Watching clown hair prance about is hardly my idea" — with his accent, it sounded like 'idear' — "of a party. Much rather be at home with a cup of Bovril and a good book."

"You need a personality, stat."

"This is a perfect breeding ground for vampire activity. It's dark, it's crowded. Besides, I knew you were likely to show up, and I have to make you understand."

"That the Harvest is coming, I know," she complained. "Your friend told me."

"What did you say?"

"The Harvest," she repeated. "That mean something to you? 'Cause I'm drawing a blank."

"I'm not sure." He was very serious all of a sudden. "Wh-who told you this?"

She watched him carefully. "This . . . guy. Dark, gorgeous in an annoying sort of way. But I figured you two were buds."

"No," he responded flatly. There was a pause, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. "The Harvest. Did he say anything else?"

"Yeah, something about the _mouth of Hell._ I _really_ didn't like him." She turned away as the band finished, leaving Giles to ponder this new information.

He moved around her and stood on the other side, leaning to speak in her ear. "Look at them," he instructed. "Throwing themselves about. Completely unaware of the danger that surrounds them."

"Lucky them," she said wistfully.

"Or perhaps you're right. Perhaps there is no trouble coming; the signs could be wrong. It's not as though you've been having the nightmares." He was fishing, trying to get her invested or to admit something that would help his case.

Buffy came to the realization that her nightmares might be _the_ nightmares he spoke of. Her eyes widened ever so slightly, and she blinked twice, rapidly. Giles glanced at her, but said nothing.

* * *

Down on the main floor, Cordelia was talking to one of her followers. "My mom doesn't even get out of bed anymore. And the doctor says it's Epstein Barr. I'm like, _please!_ It's chronic hepatitis. Or at least chronic fatigue syndrome. I mean, _nobody_ cool has Epstein Barr anymore." She payed no notice to the passing people.

Suddenly from behind her, someone called, "Hey, Cordelia!"

"Oh, yay! It's my _stalker,"_ she snarked to the other girl.

She glanced at Jesse as he came up to her, rolling her eyes.

He leaned against the post with his arm. "Hey, you, uh, you look great." He took a swig from his water bottle.

"Well I'm glad we had this little chat." She made no move to hide her annoyance.

He laughed. "Listen, uh, y'know. You wanna dance?" He did a jig. "Y'know."

She looked at him. "With you?"

"Well uh, yeah."

"Well uh, no," she told him shamelessly. He was nodding as she turned away from him and told her followers to (what else?) follow her. The three girls trailed away from him, leaving him alone under the stairs.

"Fine," he said to no one. "Plenty of other fish in the sea." He scanned the crowd for someone else of the female persuasion, preferably hot. "Oh yeah, I'm . . . on the prowl. Witness me . . . prowling." He didn't move, except to shift from foot to foot. Finally he settled on a direction and headed off that way.

* * *

Up above, Buffy was saying to Giles, "I didn't say I'd never slay another vampire." They stopped walking. Buffy leaned on the railing while the Watcher looked around himself. "It's not like I have all these fluffy bunny feelings for them. I'm just not going to get way extra-curricular with it." She looked at Giles. "You know, if I see one, sure I'll—"

He cut her off. "Will you be ready?" They regarded each other a moment. "There's so much you don't know about them, about your own powers. A vampire appears to be completely normal until the feed is upon them, and only then do they reveal their . . . true visage."

"You're like a textbook with arms," she scoffed. "I know this."

"Point _is,_ a Slayer should be able to see them anyway. Without looking, without thinking." he paused, hoping his words would sink in to the stubborn git's head. "Can you tell me if there's a vampire in this building?"

She glanced down at the crowd. "Maybe."

"You should know," he reprimanded promptly. "Even through this mass and this . . ." he searched for the right word, "din. You should be able to sense them." He looked at her. "Well, try. Reach out with your mind. You have to hone your senses. Focus until the energy washes over you, 'til you-you feel every particle of-of—"

Buffy had been scanning the crowd, and now she pointed. "There's one."

Giles looked in the direction she'd indicated. "Wha-Where?"

She pointed again. "Right there. Talking to that girl."

He chuckled. "You don't know—" He had begun to turn to her with an imperial air about him when she cut him off again.

"Oh, please! _Look_ at his jacket. He's got the sleeves rolled up, and the shirt?" The guy in question sipped something, looking incredibly seventies. "Deal with that outfit for a moment."

"It's dated?"

"It's _carbon-dated_.Trust me. Only someone living underground for ten years would think _that_ was still the look."

"But you didn't . . . hone."

She went back to watching the supposed vampire, and a frown took over her face. She recognized that red hair. When the girl the vampire was talking to came into the light, it was Willow.

"Oh no." She stood up straight.

Giles looked from her down to the floor, his mouth opening. "Isn't that . . . ?"

"Willow," she filled in for him.

Willow was smiling and talking to the guy, not seeming as uncomfortable as usual. Looked like she'd taken Buffy's advice. She'd just picked the wrong guy.

"What's she doing?" the librarian asked.

"Seizing the moment." Buffy turned, heading down the stairs so she could come to Willow's rescue. When Giles looked back to her, presumably for clarification, she was gone.

The vamp walked through the crowd of people, who seemed to part for him like water for Moses. He had Willow by the hand, and she followed him, smiling.

Giles watched, his movements stuttering, unsure what to do.

Buffy waded through the people, keeping an eye on her new friend and the predator the girl had unwittingly attracted. She lost sight of them for a second, but soon resumed her hunt.

She passed through what seemed to be a storage room, pausing long enough to break the leg of an upturned wooden barstool. She followed the shadows, passing band posters taped to walls, paying them no mind.

She looked around the room, rounding a darkened corner and pulling open a door. Light spilled in as she peeked out. She glanced to either side but saw nothing, and let the door fall closed again, turning away. She'd lost the trail.

She felt a presence behind her and whipped around, hand going to the throat of whomever had snuck up on her.

Cordelia shrieked. Being pressed against a wall and having a stake pointed at you will do that to a person.

Buffy's face softened from her glare into an apologetic, awkward half-smile, half-grimace. Really it was more 30/70. "Cordelia!" Buffy lowered the other girl to the ground.

"God! What is your childhood trauma?" the queen bee demanded.

"Have . . . you guys seem Willow?" she asked Cordy and the three worker bees, to keep with the analogy. "Did she come by here?"

Cordelia had a hand pressed to her chest. "Why, do you need to attack her with a stick?"

Realizing they were no help to her, Buffy went on her way.

"Jeez," Cordelia muttered to herself. She raised her white clutch. "Excuse me, I have to call everyone I have _ever _met, _right_ now."

* * *

Bodies writhed on the dance floor as Giles pushed his way through, making his way to Buffy. "That was quick. Well done. I-I-I need to go to the library. This-this Harvest thing —"

Buffy hadn't stopped walking, didn't even look at the Watcher. "I didn't _find_ them."

Giles grabbed her arm and twirled her to face him. "The vampire is not dead." It should have been a question. It wasn't.

"No. But my social life's on the critical list." She turned to look around the room again.

"Well, so what do we do?"

"I'll take care of it," she told him.

"Them I-I-I-I-I-I need to come with you, yes?" She'd started to leave, and he followed.

She turned again, stake still in hand. "Don't worry. One vampire I can handle." She walked away.

* * *

Jesse was talking to a blonde girl, had been for some time now, and was a little surprised she was still around, though he'd never admit it. She was sitting in an egg-shaped cast-iron seat hanging from the ceiling. "So um, what'd you say your name was?"

She twirled flirtatiously and smiled at him. "Darla."

"Darla. You know, I-I haven't seen you around before. Are you from around here?"

She spun slowly back and forth. "No, but I have family here." She grinned.

"Have I met them?" Jesse questioned.

She raised and dropped one shoulder. "Probably will."

* * *

_**He Is Risen**_

Deep below the earth, a pool of blood boiled and bubbled. It sounds like such a cliche, but it's actually fairly cool when you see it. Darkness ensconced the cave, broken by dozens of candles.

A vampire stood above the pool, in full vamp mode. He popped his jaw in and out of place as he waited.

Slowly, a head rose out of the red. The waiting vampire grinned, inasmuch as his fangy face would let him.

Shoulders, chest, waist, hands, knees, feet rose. The demon who came up was also a vampire, his face wrinkled (and not just because he was in his vampire visage), almost as if he'd been burned. He looked around the cave, nose wrinkled as he scented the place.

The other vampire smiled as the risen one stepped onto the stone lip surrounding the pool. He was in leather, of course: leather jacket, leather pants, leather boots.

The vampire who'd been waiting bowed his head. The new one held out his hand, and the other held it in both of his.

"Master," the first vampire said.

The Master looked around again. "I am weak." His voice was deep and resonating, with a hint of a list that even centuries with fangs couldn't dispel.

The other vamp stood and offered his arm for the Master to grip. "Come the Harvest," he continued, "we will be restored!" He stepped forward. "The Harvest," he scoffed.

The other vampire helped him off the ledge. "We're almost there. Soon we'll be free!" he said with a fever.

The Master reached out, his arm shaking, and passed his hand over the invisible ward that trapped him in that small portion of the tunnel system. The air rippled under his touch.

He pulled his arm back, curling his fingers. "I must be ready. I need my strength."

"I've sent your servants to bring you some food," said the lesser vampire.

"Good." He turned to the other man. "Luke?"

"Yes," he answered deeply and flatly.

"Bring me something . . . young," he requested gleefully, hands clasped in front of his chest. Luke knew it wasn't really a request, though. The Master didn't ask for things.

The Master grinned toothily, and Luke smiled ruefully at the floor.

* * *

_**Darkness and Night and Cemeteries, Oh My!**_

Willow and her cute male companion walked through the cemetery. "It sure is dark," she commented, nervous.

He looked at her briefly, dark hair shifting against his forehead. "It's night."

"Well that's a dark time, night." Her hands fidgeted. "Traditionally." She watched him, but he wasn't looking at her. "I still can't believe I've never seen you at school. Do you have Mr. Chompski for history?"

He glanced at her then looked away. She looked to the other side of herself. _Really, Willow? Talking about school?_ she berated herself. Then she noticed something. "Uh, the ice cream bar's this way." She pointed to her left. "It's past Hamilton Street."

"I know a shortcut," he told her, taking her hand. She looked wary, but followed anyway. Not that she had a whole lot of choice. Together they walked down, deeper into the cemetery, between the tombstones.

* * *

_**Xander**_

Buffy walked outside the Bronze, past giggling girls, swinging her head around as she searched for any hint of Willow or the vampire.

"Hey, you're leaving already?" Xander asked, noticing her pass by.

She whirled around and faced him. "Oh, Xander. Have you seen Willow?"

He stepped closer, hands spread down by his waist. "Not tonight, no."

"She left with a guy," Buffy told him.

Xander raised his hands in disbelief. "You're talking about _Willow,_ right? Scorin' at the Bronze, workin' the girl," he sang.

She cut him off, looking around frantically. Panic was building in her. "No, I _need_ to find her. Where would he take her?"

She'd already started to walk away from him when he said, "Why? Oh, hey, I hope he's not a vampire, because then you might have to slay him." He rubbed his hands together, stepping up to where she'd frozen.

She didn't know what to say for a long moment. "What there a . . . a school _bulletin?_ Was it in the newspaper?" She spun to face him as he slip his hands into his pockets. "It there anyone in this town who doesn't know I'm the Slayer?" She whispered the last part, gesturing to herself.

"I only know that you _think_ that you're the Slayer." He pointed at her. "And the reason why I know that—"

She cut him off again. "Whatever, it doesn't matter, just tell me: _where would Willow go?"_ she demanded.

Xander sobered. "You're serious." He looked into her fevered eyes.

"We don't find her, and there is going to be one more dead body in the morning."

* * *

_**Dinner**_

"O-okay, this-this is nice . . . and scary." Willow could barely see her hand in front of her face, and being in a cemetery with an unfamiliar guy was not comforting. "Are you sure this is faster?"

They continued through the tombstones, and he pointed to a mausoleum. "Hey. Yo ever been in one of these?" He headed to the door.

"No," she said flatly as he held open the grated door, "thank you. . . ." she continued. She turned her back to it and gazed worriedly across the cemetery.

"Come one," he coerced, stepping up behind her. He brushed her hair off her shoulder. She flinched. "What're you afraid of?" She stood frozen as he leaned into her exposed neck.

She squeaked and turned from him, starting to run. He used her own momentum and shoved her into the mausoleum. She stumbled and caught herself against a concrete slab, breathing heavy. She turned to face him, this unknown man.

"That wasn't funny!" she barked.

He stepped down to the floor. Willow backed away. He circled her, and she ended up backed against a stone wall.

"I think I'm gonna go," she said.

"Is that what you think?" He raised an eyebrow.

He started towards her, and she made a run for the door. Before she even got to the steps, Darla was there, blocking her way and smiling down at her. Willow backed away again.

"Is this the best you could do?" The blonde dropped down the stairs one at a time, still grinning at Willow.

"She's fresh," he reasoned, looking at the redhead as well.

Darla _tsk_ed. "Hardly enough to share." She'd reached the floor.

He spread his hands, uncaring. "Why didn't you bring your own?"

Darla looked at him. "I did." Her voice dripped with condescension.

Jesse stumbled in. "Hey," he gasped. "Wait up." He panted, holding his neck.

Willow reached out to him. "Oh my God, Jesse!"

Jesse's eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell towards Willow. She caught him, but couldn't hold him up, and he fell against another set of stairs.

He looked at Darla. "You know, you gave me a hickey," he panted.

The male vampire looked pointedly at Darla, and she met his gaze with a grin. "I got hungry on the way," she said with a shrug. Her voice was high-pitched and airy, Willow noticed.

"Jesse, let's get out of here," the human girl said, trying to hold him up.

"Oh, you're not going anywhere," the blonde vampire told her.

The two demons stalked forward. Willow bravely put herself between them and her wounded friend. "Leave us alone!" she yelled.

"You're not going anywhere," Darla repeated, "until we've fed!" Her face morphed, becoming her vampire face. Willow screamed and fainted.

Buffy charged through the door frame, Xander close behind her. "Well. This is nice." Darla whipped around.

Buffy glanced about, pouting. "It's a little bare," she stepped down to the floor, leaving Xander where he was, "but, a dash of paint, a few throw pillows . . ." She ran her hand along the edge of the cement slab. "Call it home." She regarded the dust fathered on her fingertips.

"Who the hell are you?" the blonde vampire questioned, breaking into a grin.

"You mean there's actually someone in this town who _doesn't _know already? Phew, that's a relief. I'm telling you, having a secret identity in this town is a job of work." She had the vampires' full attention now, and they prowled closer towards her.

"Buffy, we bail now, right?" Xander put in.

"Not yet," the unnamed male vampire snarled. Willow and Jesse cowered behind him. Or, Willow cowered. Jesse didn't seem all that aware of his surroundings.

"Okay, first of all," Buffy drawled, "what's with the outfit? Live in the now, okay. You look like DeBarge." Darla had been slowly sneaking her way behind the Slayer, hoping to get the jump on her, but she hadn't gone unnoticed. Buffy turned to face her now. "Now, we can do this the hard way or . . . well, actually, there's just the hard way."

"That's fine with me." The vampire smiled a mouthful of fang.

"Are you sure?" the not-quite-human-but-definitely-not-vampire asked brightly, though it didn't really sound like a question. "Now this is not going to be pretty. We're talking violence, strong language, adult content. . . ."

The male vampire, who'd made his way behind Buffy, lunged at her with a snarl. She staked him in the stomach without looking.

Xander blinked and looked away from the scene.

The vamp groaned and fell away from her, bursting into dust as he hit the ground, screams echoing quietly and dully from where he'd _poof_ed.

Darla was aghast. She drew herself back in disbelief.

Willow and Jesse weren't in much better shape. Buffy imagined the expression on Willow's face was the same one she'd be wearing if she'd just watched someone kick a puppy. Jesse was just aware enough to know people _weren't_ supposed to explode into dust, and that what he'd just seen was very out-of-the-ordinary.

"See what happens when you roughhouse?" Buffy taunted the remaining vampire.

"He was young and stupid!"

"Xander, go!" she called. Xander didn't listen, instead coming down the stairs as Darla called, "Don't go far!"

Naturally, a fight ensued. Darla threw a punch at Buffy, who blocked it easily and retaliated.

Meanwhile, Xander dropped down next to his friends and helped them up and out of the crypt.

The girls continued fighting. Buffy kicked the vampire in the ribs, and she bent around the injury, allowing Buffy to slam her forearm into the back of her neck, downing the vamp.

Xander, Willow, and Jesse escaped into the night at a run, not going anywhere in particular, just _running._

The Slayer tossed the vampire into a corner where the wall met the floor and stood over her as she started to pick herself up.

"You know, I just wanted to start over," Buffy said. "_Be_ like everybody else. Have some friends, you know, maybe a dog. But no." She put her foot on the other woman's chest. "You had to come _here._ You couldn't go suck on some other town." She leaned against the wall and stared down at the soulless creature.

"Who are you?" Darla asked, getting up again now that the foot had been removed.

"Don't you know?" the other girl asked incredulously.

Suddenly a hand shot out and grabbed the back of her neck, lifting her off her feet and bending her backwards. Luke stepped up next to her (not that she knew who he was, nor did she give a damn). "I don't care," he said, and threw her across the room into a pillar. She hit, head first, and collapsed to the ground.

Luke hauled Darla up, unhappy. "You were supposed to be bringing an offering for the Master." he held her off her feet as easily as he had Buffy, and dragged her by her arm towards the exit of the mausoleum. "We're almost at Harvest, and you dally with this child."

"We had someone!" she gasped out. "But them she came. She killed Thomas. Luke, she's strong!" Buffy was slowly rising. Darla panted, hyperventilating almost.

"You go," Luke said, tossing her away. "I'll see if I can handle the little girl," he said sarcastically, though his voice didn't change very much.

Darla wasted no time and escaped out the open door, only glancing back once.

Buffy dragged herself up, groaning. Luke stared down at her, watching and waiting, leaning in so he could seize her at the exact right moment.

He didn't get the chance. The slow rising had been all show, and the Slayer twirled around and immediately threw punches.

Luke was caught by surprise and stumbled back, giving Buffy room to send a jump kick at his chin, sending him back even farther.

He caught himself. "You're strong." He geared up and backfisted her across her face, sending her careening into the concrete slab. "I'm stronger."

* * *

Xander, Willow, and Jesse ran together through the cemetery, Xander supporting most of Jesse's weight.

"We'll get the police. It's just a few blocks up," Willow said.

The threesome came to a jolting stop as a group of vampires stepped into their path, fangy grins on their bumpy faces.

* * *

"You're wasting my time," Luke told buffy as the circled each other around the slab of rock.

"Hey, I had other plans too, okay," she placated, staying far away and playing it safe.

In a sudden movement, Luke shoved the top off the slab at her. She used the edges of the now-open rectangle to cartwheel over it, kicking him in the chest while she was at it, sending him into the wall. Concrete crumbled around him.

Buffy lunged, grabbing the stake off the ground, and made for his chest.

He grabbed her wrist. "Think you can stop me? Stop us?" he questioned. His hand clenched, and her bones groaned. She gasped and panted. He reached up with his other hand and snapped the stake in half, throwing away the shards. The he grabbed the fabric of her shirt and drew her closer. "You have no idea what you're dealing with," he rumbled. His voice was like two stones rubbing against each other.

He shoved her away all of a sudden, and her back slammed into the edge of the lidless slab at a painful angle. She bounced off and landed on the floor. There, she writhed, trying to get back up.

Luke rose. "And like a plague of boils, the race of Man covered the earth." Buffy twisted to look at him, figuring having her tack turned to someone so powerful was probably a bad idea. "But on the third day of the newest light will come the Harvest, when the blood of men will flow as wine. When the Master will walk among them once more. The earth will belong to the Old Ones." He leaned over her. "And Hell itself will come to town." He grabbed her throat, and she gasped.

Luke picked her up easily and threw her into the open rectangle.

A crackle noise rose when she landed, and Buffy looked to her right to see an old, blackened skeleton. She let out a shout, but didn't move. She stayed frozen where she was, waiting, hoping he'd gone. Eventually, she started to slowly sit up, just in time to see Luke leap down into the rectangle.

He landed lightly at her feet, earning another shout from her. "Amen," he said with a grin.

The vampire opened his mouth wide and leaned in to her neck.


End file.
